


And under everything, there has always been you

by redsnake05



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-03
Updated: 2010-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-08 16:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident on a routine assignment sends Ron and Draco into a complicated charade, one that highlights things they both thought were well-buried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And under everything, there has always been you

Ron tapped his foot and looked impatient as the apothecary rummaged through a box on the counter, supposedly looking for receipts. Malfoy stood next to him, leaning on the counter and drumming his fingers absently on the crisp parchment of their warrant. The apothecary sent him an annoyed look, as if the presence of two Aurors in his shop was a personal affront to him. Malfoy's expression of bored disinterest didn't falter and the other man turned back to the box. Ron upped his glare a little and settled his hands on his hips. This was taking forever.

"It's not here," the apothecary said. "I need to go out the back and look through our older files."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Because three days ago is such a long time, and your shop has such a high turnover," he said.

"Whatever," Ron said, cutting the apothecary off before he could reply to Malfoy. He hated being sent on these kinds of missions with Malfoy; he had never really resigned himself to them, even after three years of both being full Aurors. Malfoy was a distraction, even as he radiated bored hauteur in every line of his body. "Just get the thing. We'll wait," Ron continued. Casting Ron a look of annoyance, which Ron matched with an irritated glare, the other man shuffled through the archway into the back office. Ron could hear him rummaging round, the soft sounds of papers moving and drawers opening and closing. He came back out with an envelope clenched in his fingers.

"Here," he said, waving it triumphantly. Malfoy reached for the envelope and slid his finger under the flap, loosening it. Ron moved forward to look over Malfoy's shoulder, glancing up at the last moment to see the apothecary backed away against the door to his office with such a look of malice on his face that Ron reached out to grasp Malfoy's wrist warningly. The envelope popped open under Malfoy's fingers an instant before Ron grasped it and threw it across the room. A faint scent of vanilla and musk reached his nostrils anyway, and he looked down at Malfoy. His eyes were wide open, his mouth parted on a little _oh_ of surprise. It was the first time in a long time Ron had seen Malfoy's lips soft and not twisted into a sneer or pressed into a thin, hard line. Ron wanted to kiss them.

Everything went a little blurry after that. Ron forgot about the receipt and they left the shop and stumbled back to the Department as if they were a little drunk. Nothing really existed outside of each other and the need to get somewhere quiet and private. They only just made it into the locker room before the vague disconnect between Ron's brain and his fingers snapped suddenly and sent his fingers tightening on Malfoy's shoulders. Malfoy shoved him into a bank of lockers, pressing against him hard, standing on tiptoes as Ron bent down so they could kiss, wet and urgent.

Ron groaned and tugged Mafoy higher against him, whining in frustration for an instant before turning them around and pinning Malfoy against the lockers. Malfoy's fingers twisted hard in Ron's hair as Ron got one hand under his thigh and lifted him up, aligning their hips. Malfoy moaned into the kiss and bit Ron's lip before running his tongue over it. Ron was so hard, so pleasantly desperate and totally unconcerned with anything other than Malfoy's body under his and the way they were rubbing together. Malfoy was similarly wanton, rutting against Ron and kissing him with focused compulsion.

Then the haze cleared and Ron stepped back, letting Malfoy fall back against the lockers as Ron's hands dropped to his side. He felt like his brain had abruptly restablished its link with his body, and he felt vaguely sick as he watched Malfoy straighten and his fingers come up to touch his reddened lips. The sound of clapping behind them, slow and mocking, made Malfoy pull his fingers away and set his shoulders. Ron saw the way his face settled into his familiar mask of disdain. Apart from the swollen curve of his lips and the disordered mess of his hair, you would never have guessed that Malfoy had just had his legs wrapped around Ron's waist.

Settling his own face into a scowl of displeasure, Ron turned, pulling himself up to his full height and settling his hands on his hips. Carruthers and Michaels were standing in the doorway, identical shit-eating grins plastered firmly over their faces. No matter how much Ron was freaking out inside about what the _fuck_ had just happened, he wasn't going to show it on his face and let these two idiots know how confused and unsure he was. Someone shoved Michaels out of the way and strode into the room. Ron kept his face bland with an effort. This was the last time and place he wanted to see his boss.

"You two, my office, now," Kingsley said, gesturing out the other door of the locker room. He didn't even bother to watch them go. Ron could hear him turning and ripping shreds off Michaels and Carruthers over something. He carefully didn't look to see if Malfoy was following behind him. He was so screwed.

 

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Draco would never admit that he loved being an Auror. He tended to set his default face to bored indifference every morning so that no one would guess. He was good at his job, he knew, but he didn't want people to know that he enjoyed it. Some things were still a matter of Malfoy pride, no matter what else changed. He sat ramrod straight in his chair, waiting for Shacklebolt to come in, and tried to push away the feeling of dread clawing at his stomach. He didn't turn his head to look at Weasley, though he knew he was right there next to him, shifting occasionally in his seat. He knew enough of Weasley's habits from the occasional case together to read his nervousness too.

The door shut behind them and Draco resisted the urge to look. He kept his back straight. When Shacklebolt rounded the corner of his desk and dropped into his chair he was smiling. Draco swallowed. He never would have thought Shacklebolt would take pleasure in whatever disciplinary action he had waiting for them.

"You two have done a good job of keeping your relationship quiet and not letting it affect your jobs," he said. "I never would have guessed if I hadn't walked into the locker room right then. Not the most sensible place, but I suppose I can make allowances." Draco gaped. He was sure his mouth was hanging open unattractively, and a swift glance at Ron showed him looking completely gobsmacked too.

"So," Shacklebolt continued, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk and smiling in a truly terrifying way. "It's all rather fortunate that this has come out now, since I would much rather ask an established couple to take on this task than ask any of my Aurors to pretend."

Next to Draco, Weasley squeaked. Draco shot a look at him, hoping he wasn't going to ruin everything. It looked like they might be going to escape any sort of reprimand, if only because Shacklebolt wanted them to do something for him. Thankfully, though, Weasley wasn't quite thick enough to say anything and Draco turned his attention back to Shacklebolt. Draco listened, horror growing steadily inside him, ranging against the dread of embarrassment and disciplinary action, and maybe losing the job he had never expected to love. Shacklebolt finished his explanation and beamed at them expectantly. Weasley cleared his throat, the sort of nervous sound that Draco had heard him make before when they had worked together, and he reached out without thinking.

Wrapping his fingers firmly around Weasley's wrist, he tightened his grip till it must have been painful. Weasley turned his head to look at Draco, mouth already open on what Draco was sure was going to be a stammered explanation that would make them both look bad. He was sure that fucking up and letting a suspect slip them an aphrodisiac was not going to look good for either of them.

"We'd be delighted to take on this case," he said. "Wouldn't we, Ronald?" He dug his nails into the underside of Ron's wrist just a little, watching his mouth drop open further in surprise. He smiled, showing his teeth, hoping that Ron could translate that into _accept the job, play along, don't get disciplined_. Ron seemed to get it and shut his mouth abruptly, turning to Shacklebolt and nodding.

"Excellent," said Shacklebolt. He shuffled through the files on his desk and handed one over to Malfoy, who hastily let go of Weasley's wrist to accept it, shoving in a few loose pieces of parchment. "You go through that, and I'd like to see an outline of your analysis and plans on my desk by the end of the day tomorrow."

"Great," said Draco, standing. Weasley stood too, looming over Draco uncomfortably close. Draco hated it when he remembered how tall Weasley was.

"We'll have it to you tomorrow," promised Weasley. He moved and opened the door for Draco, both of them walking out into a dead silent office. All faces were turned towards them, shining with expectation of gossip, various degrees of malice or concern. Behind him, Draco could feel Weasley stretch to his full height. His hand came to rest on the small of Draco's back, guiding him forward. Draco hated the way the pressure reassured him, shoving the feeling down deep and out of sight.

"Conference room five should be free," said Draco, voice carrying clearly around the hushed office space.

"Excellent. I'm sure we could do with some privacy to discuss our next case," replied Weasley. A single titter broke out, swiftly silenced when Draco locked eyes with the offender, promising retribution. He was sure Weasley was doing the same. They swept briskly down the corridor and into the conference room, Draco ignoring the way an excited hum of chatter broke out as they stepped inside, clearly audible before he shut the door behind them. He dropped the files onto the table and got out his wand.

"Silencing and privacy charms," Draco said, very calmly. "And then I am going to _strangle_ you for getting us into this."

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Ron dropped into his chair with a huff of irritation, glaring across the conference room table at Malfoy. "Stop moaning," he snapped. "I didn't break your pointy little nose, so don't bitch about it."

"You better hope that I got the spells up before you mauled me," said Malfoy, holding his hand to his face and muttering a few final healing charms.

"You don't want the whole office thinking that you like it rough, Malfoy? When you, oh so thoughtfully, dropped me into this ridiculous charade?" He was still seething, watching as Draco straightened after fixing the last bruises Ron had left on him.

"And your option, confessing to Shacklebolt and getting dragged through every disciplinary procedure known to wizarding kind because we were slipped an aphrodisiac potion, seemed a better choice to you?"

"You know what? Any disciplinary procedure would be a cakewalk next to listening to you bitch and whinge for the next eight weeks, and having to pretend that I _like it_." He still couldn't believe this had happened. The whole thing seemed surreal, and, yeah, he could kind of agree that it was better not to have been shouted at and investigated over being careless enough to get doused in aphrodisiac, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

"Yeah, fuckface, good move. But I like my job, so you can just suck it up and get over yourself," said Malfoy.

Ron crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "I'm not going to like my job very much for the next eight weeks," he growled. "Merlin, why are you such an arse?"

Malfoy scowled right back at him, and Ron could see the annoyance and frustration shining through his habitual sneer. Ron looked away, out into the office, and thought about the next few weeks and just how unpleasant they were going to be. Not only would he be working with Malfoy, a circumstance that grated on his nerves at the best of times, but he'd have to pretend to be in a relationship with him. They would have to touch each other, smile and talk, and pretend to their friends and families that it was real. Ron pushed aside the stray thought that it wouldn't be that much effort to have to touch Malfoy. Ron could understand the need for secrecy - to be investigating another Department for allegations of fraud and bribery was certainly not something the Aurors could do openly. He just wished that there could have been another way.

"There is nothing for it, I suppose," he finally said, grudgingly. "We'll have to make the best of it."

"You should be grateful to be allowed to pretend to be my boyfriend," sneered Malfoy. Ron clenched his fists but didn't reply. Malfoy paced back and forth on his side of the conference table, face creasing into a worried frown. Ron hadn't seen this look on Malfoy's face much, even though they had worked together.

"Look," said Ron, "we just have to pretend for eight weeks. We apply for a permit to lifebond and ask for it to be processed rapidly. Then we just have to sit back and wait for the blackmail to start."

"We have to pretend to be in love," hissed Malfoy.

"I've pretended to think that you're an actual human being and not a ferrety bastard for the past three years, I am sure I can hold your hand for a few weeks and manage to not look like I'm going to gag." Malfoy threw him a hateful glare and continued to pace. Ron heaved a sigh.

"I know you don't like this," Ron continued, "but we're both in this together. Now, you're good at planning and details, right? One of the best in the Department, in fact. Why don't you make up the details of our relationship so that we don't blurt out the wrong thing, and I will go to work on how we should use our supposed relationship to make this case work, okay?" Ron had the satisfaction of seeing Malfoy's scowl lift at his compliment. Ron dragged the case files closer and tried not to imagine what his mum was going to say. He tried even harder to push aside his pride at the pleased smile that lingered around Malfoy's mouth.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

"I can't believe we have to have dinner at your parental hovel," hissed Draco as he walked up a path made of uneven bricks with weeds growing between them. It was getting dark and Draco stumbled slightly on a loose brick.

"Did you think maybe we were just going to live in a bubble where our colleagues didn't laugh at us and our families didn't want to know what the fuck was going on?" asked Weasley, looking irritatingly calm. "Besides, we're having dinner with your parents tomorrow and my will isn't even up to date."

"I can't believe you, making stupid jokes at a time like this," Draco said. He was frustrated and irritable, tired from four days of laughter and teasing from their colleagues. Tired of the way they looked from Weasley to him with their eyebrows raised and a disbelieving look on their faces, like they couldn't imagine how Weasley had ended up with _him_. He hated that, the idea that he wasn't good enough for a _Weasley_. It made him snappish and bad-tempered under his calm facade, but Weasley hadn't seemed to notice any brittleness. He'd touched Draco with sure confidence - a hand on the small of his back as they walked, a kiss on the cheek, a whole range of smiles that Draco wasn't used to seeing directed at him. He hadn't been able to stop himself from smiling back, and that grated the most of all.

"It's either make jokes or have a breakdown. Do you think your sniping and bitching is helpful?" Weasley came to a stop on the path and grabbed Draco's arm, dragging him round to face him. "I know you don't like this, Merlin, how many times do I have to say it? Just stop making it harder."

"You have no idea how hard it is," retorted Draco. He felt hot and edgy, unsure of himself, and that made his voice spiteful.

"_I_ have no idea, you arsehole? My mum _cried_, Malfoy. It took me _three hours_ to calm her and my dad down, and you say I don't know how hard this is? Fuck you." Weasley was breathing hard, face flushed, his calm facade gone and replaced by anger and frustration. "You don't know anything."

"Fuck you," said Draco. He was furious, heart beating fast in his chest, all of his anger and resentment spilling out. He shoved Weasley hard, sending him staggering back a couple of paces. "You insufferable arse, you think you've got it so bad, think you've got the high ground here." He grabbed Weasley by the shoulders, intending to shake him, but found himself tugging him down instead, close enough that Draco could kiss him. This kiss was all teeth and bitter anger, hard and unyielding for a long moment until Weasley moaned slightly and kissed back just as hard. Draco took advantage of his open mouth, keeping his fingers tight in Weasley's shoulders. Weasley's hands dropped to Draco's hips, tugging him closer. The kiss was still hard, all about domination and the sick edge of frustration.

Draco forgot his anger and carefully hidden hurt as Weasley moaned again when Draco bit his lip. All he could think of was the bruising pressure of Weasley's hands in his back, holding him close, and the hot drag of his tongue inside Weasley's mouth. He felt anger and lust coalesce uneasily in his belly, fierce and dangerous. He wanted to shove Weasley to the ground and hold him down, hold him still so that Draco could _use_ him. His cock was hard and he was close to the edge of his own control. Weasley's cock rubbed against his and Draco groaned. It was so good, the friction between them.

A door slammed behind Draco and he jumped back, breathing hard. Weasley stared at him in the gathering darkness, wiping the back of his hand over his own mouth. He was panting harshly too, robes rumpled and eyes heavy. He looked toward the house and pasted on a smile.

"They're waiting," he said. Draco straightened his robes and his shoulders, turning back to the uneven path in front of him.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Ron smoothed down the cuffs of his dress robes as he stood in front of the mirror in his room. He tried to free his mind of the oppressive knowledge that Draco Malfoy was in his spare bedroom currently getting into his dress robes, ready for their engagement party. Ron concentrated on smoothing out his face, as wrinkle-free as the heavy fabric of his robes, betraying nothing of the jumble of emotions under the surface. He needed to keep his mind on the job, carefully ignoring the way that the job was his whole _life_ right now, had been so for the past four weeks. Buried down deep, under the fierce professionalism and the barely concealed anger, he kept the things he couldn't acknowledge. Things like the way Draco looked in the morning, sleepy-eyed and rumpled, with his thin fingers wrapped tightly around a cup of tea as he hunched over in his chair, strangely vulnerable to Ron's eyes. The way he would look at Ron sometimes and quirk his eyebrows and the perfect sarcastic comment would echo in Ron's head, like he didn't even need Draco to say it out loud. The way it felt wrong and unnatural to call him Malfoy anymore, the way he had started to call him _Draco_ in his head. Buried even deeper than that were the memories of his fingers in Ron's hair, his lips red, swollen and parted on a gasp of pleasure as Ron kissed him.

When they touched, it was like everything else, all the important stuff - the _surface_ stuff, his traitorous brain supplied - melted away. All that was left was the heat of their skin together. Ron lost himself in Draco, every time, with no thought in his head but _more_, more of Draco's kisses, more of his skin under Ron's fingers, under Ron's mouth. He wanted the sweaty rub of their skin together. He wanted Draco's voice gone rough and breathy, moans muffled in Ron's skin. He was desperate for it, and every moment they spent together on this case just made the wanting worse, sharper and more urgent.

A loud knock on the partially open door roused Ron from his abstraction and he turned round. Draco stood in the doorway, his blandest, most professionally bored expression firmly in place. Ron's fingers itched with the desire to grab him and tumble him onto the bed, make him more real. Maybe make him as real as he'd ever been.

"What?" demanded Draco, and Ron schooled his face back into his best bland mask. He wondered what Draco had seen there in his lapse of composure.

"Nothing," he said. "Is it time to go?"

"Not yet," replied Draco. "We have a few minutes." Ron looked away, he knew, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it, that he wanted to spend those few minutes with Draco's back against the wall or on the bed, pinning him down and kissing him until they had to leave. He risked glancing back at Draco, feeling edgy and unsettled, even more than he usually did around him. Draco sighed. "There is no good way to say this," he muttered.

"What?" asked Ron.

"Look, it's a thing. In the family." He crossed the room and grasped Ron's wrist, turning his hand over and dropping something into the palm of it. "You have to wear it," he said. Ron pulled his hand back to look at the brooch in his palm, feeling the magic radiate from it up his fingers. His mouth dried as the spells slowly resolved themselves in his head; protection, bonding, esteem and... desire. Subtle, as if Draco had cast the charms as quickly as possible, but still there. He looked up and met Malfoy's gaze.

"Don't fucking say anything," said Draco, voice low and fierce. The tips of his ears burned red and Ron swallowed hard at the rare sign of mortification. Draco was all barely contained anger and humiliation, and Ron let the realisation of just how he wanted to ease that hurt work through him with the tingle of the magic from the brooch.

"If I put this on," Ron said, just as low, catching Draco's other wrist in his free hand and holding him still, "then I will know everything about how you feel."

"No need to rub it in," hissed Draco. "Isn't this embarrassing enough? Don't you think I tried to find another way?"

"How long?" asked Ron. Draco tried to pull away from him, but Ron's fingers tightened on his wrist. "How long?" he asked again.

"Long enough," said Draco. "Just. Wear the thing. Don't make it harder for me than you have to." He wrenched his wrist out of Ron's grip and strode out the door, shoulders curved into a self-protective hunch. Ron stared after him, watching until the doorway was empty and even his footsteps had faded as Draco shut himself back into the spare room. He absently rubbed his thumb over the brooch. Such an innocent looking thing, a relic of earlier times when marriage was usually an arrangement. The brooch merely guaranteed the intentions of the giver to honour the contract. But emotions always leaked through, and Ron was a master at reading charms and pulling them apart. He thought about Draco's red cheeks and tightly compressed mouth, the stubborn set of his shoulders, and he wanted to rip all the denial and repression to shreds and leave it tattered between them, so they could see each other clearly at last.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Draco couldn't look at Ron, didn't want to see the smug smirk that would no doubt be twisting on his lips. It was bad enough that Ron's hand sat heavy on the small of Draco's back, confident and possessive. Draco wanted to lean back into the touch, and he cursed his traitorous body. He'd known that this charade was a bad idea from the start, but he hadn't anticipated it being quite this bad. He'd thought he could keep his attraction hidden, since he barely acknowledged it himself. But the way Ron touched him just made him want _more_.

He'd seen the way Ron looked at him sometimes, he'd felt the barely controlled passion there whenever they had kissed. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough, and only years of practice kept his bland, polite smile from falling from his face. They moved amongst the guests at their engagement party, a matched set to look at from the outside, and Draco knew that the charade would be over soon.

"Is that him?" asked Ron, leaning down and speaking in Draco's ear. Draco followed his gaze to the man standing in the corner, seemingly unconcerned by the noise and festivities around him. Draco nodded, shortly. This man was the reason they were doing this, and Draco needed to remember. Just a job. Allegations of blackmail against another Department, against this man.

"Supposedly, he waits until just before the end of the processing period, and then extorts the money, slowly, for extra 'processing fees'," replied Draco, voice soft and face tilted up to meet Ron's. "What a charmer." Ron's snort was derisory and slightly amused, something Draco hadn't known how to read clearly until recently. Now he knew all the connotations of it, and a dozen others.

"I guess it will be our turn soon," said Ron. Draco looked up a little further, meeting his eyes for a startled moment as he wondered at the slight emphasis on _our_.

"That's what Shacklebolt's betting on," said Draco. He felt inane, like there was no substance to his words. Even his small talk usually had an edge, sometimes of boredom, sometimes of irony.

"It's going to be strange," said Ron. "When this is over, I mean." Draco looked up at him again, but Ron was looking down at his own fingers, just resting on the brooch he'd pinned to his lapel.

"No doubt you'll get over it," said Draco, his voice as dry as dust.

"Maybe," said Ron. His face was inscrutable, still mostly in the polite half smile he'd worn for their guests all night. Draco looked away hastily, back to the man who was reason for their charade. Draco had felt hesitant and uncertain ever since he'd dropped the brooch into Ron's palm, like he'd taken a step in a waiting game that was out of his control. It was all a waiting game, where he had limited options available to him, and had to wait merely for the other players to take their turns. Ron urged him forwards to greet another guest with the silent pressure of his hand on Draco's back, and Draco remembered that he was supposed to be quite good at chess. He waited for Ron to make his move.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Ron closed the file with a soft thump of parchment slips in heavy manila covers and put his head down on top of it on his desk. He was tired, eyes aching in the soft flicker of the candles that illuminated the Auror offices this late at night. He had signed his name to the last declaration, transcribed the last witness statement, filled in the last form. It was done. Tomorrow another team would go and make an arrest that would make a Ministry scandal. He just hoped that it would be enough to cover up the cancellation of his and Draco's bonding.

He could feel the weight of the license in his pocket, even though it was actually the brooch weighing his robes down. He rubbed his fingers over the smooth surface again, feeling the buzz of the charm through his fingertips. The shock of the emotional mix that bled through the metal hadn't faded. Every time he had to fight the urge to snatch his fingers back from the proof that Draco Malfoy wanted him. He remembered the night he'd worn this the first time, the way the subtle urge to touch Draco had been closer, harder to deny. He'd had to hold himself back from holding him still, tilting his face up and kissing him. Even when he'd taken it off, he'd still felt it. It was the same ache as he'd been denying and repressing for weeks.

Ron groaned a little into the desk. He was so fucked. All his bored indifference and annoyance with Draco was gone, twisted and confused into something more complicated. There was lust, but that was the easy part. It was the rest that was difficult, the possessive pleasure in touching him, the laughter and snarky banter they had slowly fallen into, the indefinable feeling of _mine_ that Ron got whenever he was around him.

"Done?" asked Draco. Ron opened his eyes but didn't lift his head from the desk. Draco leaned against the edge of Ron's cubicle, arms folded over his chest. His head was tipped forward so his eyes were in shadow, but Ron thought he could see an edge of uncertainty around his mouth and the way his shoulders were set. Ron straightened in his seat.

"Yes," he said. "Just finished."

"Good," said Draco. He looked down at his feet for a long moment as Ron watched him. "I guess we'll be able to drop this when the arrest becomes public, then." A long silence followed as they stood in the silence of the Auror offices in mellow candlelight. Draco finally straightened and offered a wry half-smile, turning to walk away.

"Wait," said Ron. Draco stopped, not looking back, but still there in the entrance to the cubicle. "Wait. Draco. Don't leave yet." Draco's shoulders tensed at the use of his first name, but he inclined his head in a gesture that Ron could read far more clearly than he could his own muddled feelings. He just knew that he didn't want Draco to leave just yet. Maybe never. He sucked in a sharp breath as that realisation hit him squarely.

"What do you want?" Draco asked, finally. "I'm not going to wait forever."

Ron dug in his pocket and pulled out the brooch and the license. He spread them out on the table and looked at them as if they held the answer to the nervous swirl of feelings in his gut. He traced his finger again over the metal of the brooch, rapidly cooling as it was away from his body heat.

"My family doesn't exchange brooches at engagement," he said. "But if we did, do you know what feelings mine would have bleeding through every charm?"

"No," said Draco, still with his back turned. His shoulders looked even more tense.

"So many things," said Ron. "You infuriate me, but I want to touch you so badly. I want to laugh at your jokes and make you tea in the mornings. I sometimes think all you'd get off the charm would be the confused buzz of _how much_ I feel for you."

Draco didn't reply, didn't turn around, but the tension across his back eased a little.

"The license is valid for three months from it's issue date," said Ron. He watched Draco tilt his head but not speak, and a little bubble of frustration worked its way to the top of his confusion. "Merlin, are you going to make me do all the work here?" he demanded.

"You already know more than I ever wanted you to know about how I feel," said Draco. Ron was silent for a moment, looking down at the paper in front of him.

"Tomorrow night, after the arrest and the interviews and all that, will you come to dinner with me?" he asked.

"Why?" asked Draco.

"Must you be so difficult?" huffed Ron. "Because I'm not done with all of this, that's why! Because I can't just turn off what I feel for you now that we've closed the case. Because I like you more than I should." Though he'd started off blustering, the last few words were quiet, almost whispered, as if Ron feared anyone else hearing them, no matter how late at night it was and how deserted their surroundings.

Draco turned slowly and Ron caught his breath at the look on his face, hunger peeking through the bland mask, perhaps a little wild round the edges. He had never seen a look like this on Draco's face, like he had something he thought he would never get in front of him and he was too frightened to touch it. Ron was on his feet before he realised, grabbing Draco and hauling him close. He held him fiercely, face pressed into Draco's hair.

"What is this?" asked Draco, pulling back just enough to speak freely, hands up and away from Ron's body, carefully not touching him.

"I don't know," said Ron. "I want it, though. I want _you_." Draco raised his hands, resting them hesitantly on Ron's shoulders. Ron clung to him until the weight was warm and solid against his skin, Draco real inside his arms.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Draco pushed Ron through the door, smiling with a sharply feral edge as he yielded to Draco's direction. Kicking the door shut behind him, Draco barely waited for the soft hum that said that the wards had gone back up before he twisted his hand in Ron's hair and yanked him down and into a kiss. Ron gasped, mouth opening to Draco's tongue, and all Draco wanted was more of his skin and submission. He wanted Ron to give himself up to this. Ron moaned into the kiss and wrapped his hands round Draco's hips hard, tugging him further into the room. He was enthusiastic about giving Draco what he wanted, groaning shakily and tightening his fingers when Draco bit his lower lip hard.

"Bed," said Draco. He shoved at Ron's chest, directing him backwards and down the short hallway to his room, pushing him back so he tumbled onto the mattress. Draco felt frantic, desperate for the smooth lines of Ron's skin under his fingers. He wanted to see how far he could push this, and he wanted to know for certain that this was no joke. He thought that he'd be able to read sincerity in Ron's voice as he begged for Draco.

"Slow down," said Ron, arching up into Draco's hands as they fumbled over the fastenings of his robes. "I'm not going anywhere." Draco's fingers stilled on the fabric over Ron's chest.

"_Lumos_," he whispered. The lamp on the dresser by the bed flared, illuminating Ron's face. Draco stared at him, taking in the look on his face, open and intent. He hadn't really been sure that Ron wanted this, not before now. His voice was pitched low and earnest.

"Draco?" Ron asked. "Have you changed your mind?"

"You mean it," said Draco. He flushed sharply, embarrassed even through his moment of revelation. "You really want me." Ron looked puzzled for a second, forehead wrinkling into a frown before it cleared and he looked torn between lustful and annoyed.

"Yes, I mean it," he said. Reaching up, he stroked his thumb over Draco's cheek. "I like you, I want you. I can't explain all the things I feel for you." Ron smiled, lopsided and a bit rueful, and raised his other hand to punch Draco gently in the arm. Draco felt relief run through him, his deeply held distrust easing as he contemplated the idea that maybe Ron was telling the truth. And that Draco didn't have to wait to hear the honesty of it. "You're an idiot," Ron continued.

"Because I can always trust you to say what you mean," scoffed Draco, the snarky edge still there, but softer this time, the truth of his words peeping through the sarcasm.

"Right now, I'm saying that I want you," said Ron. He shifted under Draco, rolling his hips up so his dick pressed into Draco's thigh for an instant. Draco grinned, relief giving it a cocky twist, and reached for his wand.

"That's good," he replied. "Because I'm going to get you naked now." Ron just smiled and stretched out, grinning up at Draco as the muttered charm made his clothes slide off him. Draco smirked back down at him, feeling settled and confident for the first time in weeks. He leaned foward and kissed Ron, letting himself be tugged down to rest on top of him. Draco wasn't quite sure when this had become his life, but he rocked down against Ron and swallowed the low moan he made. He believed then that maybe Ron would be around long enough for him to figure it out.


End file.
